


Sit Back & Relax

by smarshtastic



Series: SALTapalooza [11]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Drunken Confessions, Getting Together, Lapdance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 13:50:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12818889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarshtastic/pseuds/smarshtastic
Summary: Gabe laughs again, but before he can say anything else, a pair of strong hands push him down into the chair. It only works because it catches Gabe off guard. When he looks up, he finds McCree standing over him. Gabe’s heart skips a beat.---Gabe gets a lapdance on his birthday.





	Sit Back & Relax

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vageege](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vageege/gifts), [fabrega](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabrega/gifts).



> Week 10 of [SALTapalooza](https://saltapalooza.tumblr.com/)! This is a fourteen part series that will update every Saturday for the next four weeks.
> 
> This is 1000% [Liz](https://twitter.com/vageege)'s fault. 
> 
> Feel free to come yell at [me](https://twitter.com/smarshtastic/) or [fabrega](https://twitter.com/carithlee) about this on twitter! ♥

The party is more raucous than usual, but Gabe isn’t particularly inclined to tell anyone to cut it out. 

It is, after all, his birthday. 

Not that he ever makes much of a big deal about his birthday under normal circumstances. It always seemed a little pointless, a little too selfish, and Gabe was never much for the spotlight, anyway. But it’s his 40th birthday and once the Blackwatch strike team found out, they absolutely  _ insisted _ on throwing him a party. It couldn’t hurt, for once in his life, to let himself feel a little bit special. 

It’s supposed to be a surprise party, but - in spite of being the planet’s most secretive covert ops organization - someone on the strike team, who shall remain nameless (Wake Newton), spoiled the surprise in their excitement. Gabe knew that it was coming but knowing ahead of time doesn’t make it any less special. Besides, he is the only one with the authorization to sign the paperwork so that they can reserve a room on base. 

There’s an absolutely  _ obscene _ amount of alcohol piled onto a table in the corner of the upper floor lounge; all different types, some of which is actually probably banned in Switzerland, but Gabe is, again, inclined to turn a blind eye. They don't often get to let loose, and their work demands too much of them to keep going without a little bit of a reprieve. The lounge is in a remote enough corner of the base that they won’t be bothering anyone. The strike team made sure to get everyone’s favorites, with enough mixers and extras to go around. Gabe would say that it's entirely too much for the number of people at the party, but he knows how much they can drink. 

Even still, they've managed to make a meaningful dent in their libations when Prithi turns the music up. It's a low, thrumming song that vibrates through the floor and up Gabe's spine. He's not nearly drunk enough to dance, but that doesn't seem to stop the others from crowding in close and moving in time with the beat. He finds himself tapping his foot in spite of himself, a grin plastered on his face as he watches his agents enjoy themselves. 

He can’t think of a better way to spend his birthday. 

In retrospect, it's probably Shiga who plants the idea about birthday lap dances. The whole squad latches onto it immediately, doing their best to convince Gabe to have a seat. Gabe resists, playfully, insisting he's not drunk enough to let them make fools of themselves. Prithi changes the music and Shiga drags a chair into place and Wake Newton presses another drink into Gabe’s hand. 

“No pictures,” Gabe says, laughing as he dodges around the chair again. “We’ll all lose our edgy reputations if pictures like those get out.”

“No pictures, no pictures,” Wake echoes. “We promise.”

“We don't have cooties,” Valdez says. It's a treat to see her let her hair down, so to speak - the color is high in her cheeks and her lips are curved up in a rather uncharacteristic smile. She hasn’t looked so relaxed in  _ months _ . Gabe tips his head back and laughs. 

“That's not my concern,” he says. 

“You're not supposed to be worried about anything, it's your birthday,” Prithi says. 

“Yeah, come on, boss!” Edwards says. He's already more than a little sloppy - Gabe suspects that Edwards is eager for a show. Gabe shakes his head fondly. 

“What's it going to take to convince you?” Shiga asks. “It's just harmless fun.”

Gabe laughs again, but before he can say anything else, a pair of strong hands push him down into the chair. It only works because it catches Gabe off guard. When he looks up, he finds McCree standing over him. Gabe’s heart skips a beat. 

“Just relax,” McCree tells him, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a mischievous smirk, his eyes bright. He takes another swig of his drink then passes it off to Shiga before he slowly unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt. 

Gabe’s grin freezes in place. Of all the people on his strike team, the only person he'd actually want a lap dance from would be Jesse McCree - not that Gabe would have ever admitted it, even in his wildest dreams. But here he is, nudging Gabe’s knees apart so he can stand between them, one hand pulling open his collar and exposing the dusting of hair across his pecs, his dark eyes bright as they focus on Gabe’s face. 

Gabe swallows hard. 

“I know better than to relax around you people,” Gabe says, doing a truly admirable job of feigning composure. All those years of training really do pay off. 

“Don't mean you can't enjoy it, though,” McCree says, letting his hands trail down his own chest before they come to rest on the tops of Gabe’s thighs. Gabe shakes his head, unable to think of a clever response while his head is full of the sensation of McCree’s warm hands on his thighs. “What, rather have Edwards?”

Gabe laughs. “Definitely not.”

“Then enjoy this,” McCree says, swinging one leg over Gabe’s to straddle his thigh. In that moment, Gabe decides he  _ will  _ let himself enjoy it. It is, after all, his birthday - and maybe his only chance to enjoy this. 

Gabe leans back in his seat, lacing his fingers behind his head as McCree grinds down on his thigh, his hips moving sinuously against Gabe’s body. McCree’s fingers pull open the rest of the buttons on his shirt, exposing the hard, muscled line of his chest and abs. Gabe suddenly, desperately wants to reach out and touch him, but he keeps his hands locked behind his head. McCree flings his shirt off. It lands somewhere out of sight - Gabe thinks he hears Shiga or maybe Wake whistle - but his attention is wholly focused on McCree. He keeps his expression impassive, a small smile turning his lips up at either side, but otherwise a mask of cool, distant interest. Inside, though, his mind is doing somersaults at the combination of sounds and sensations. McCree is heavy against his lap; he’s filled out in the years since he’s joined Blackwatch, building muscle where he used to be just skin and bones. He’s what, 21? 22, now? Jesus. McCree doesn’t have any business being as good at this as he is - at 21, Gabe was graduating from the military academy, a newly minted officer, freshly deployed, too busy to think about anything except staying alive. He certainly wasn’t getting any action in the bedroom. Gabe pushes that thought out of his mind to focus on McCree, who’s hands are now trailing down Gabe’s chest.

“You can touch me, darlin’,” he says, practically purring the words so only Gabe can hear under the sound of the thrumming music. He reaches up and slides his hand along Gabe’s arm, tugging on Gabe’s hand until he unlaces his fingers. McCree drops his mouth to Gabe’s knuckles, an oddly chaste gesture in the middle of all this, before he flattens Gabe’s hand against his chest. His skin is hot under Gabe’s calloused fingers, already damp with a light sheen of sweat. Gabe lets his hand trail down over McCree’s chest, fingers tripping over a mess of scars from wounds long healed over. Gabe knows where some of these came from - was there when McCree got them - but others are strange and unfamiliar. He wants to map them out, commit them to memory. The moment is lost too soon, though. McCree swings around to face out, straddling Gabe’s hips with his ass firmly in Gabe’s lap. He rolls his hips against Gabe, grinding down, arching his back and tipping his head back towards Gabe’s so that his hair brushes against his nose. Gabe settles his hands around McCree’s hips, fingers resting in the dip between muscle and bone as McCree grinds rhythmically against his lap. McCree’s ass is lined up perfectly with Gabe’s dick. It shouldn't feel as good as it does through the thick layers of jeans. McCree moves against him with what feels like practiced ease, putting just enough pressure against Gabe’s dick to tease the arousal out of him. 

Gabe should be more worried about the rest of the strike team watching them - he knows how this looks - but the alcohol buzzing in his system makes the worry fade away to almost nothing in the back of his mind. He's got a tight enough control on his composure that he's certain the Blackwatch squad doesn't know that his dick is starting to thicken under McCree’s ass. His entire focus is nicely narrowed onto McCree in his lap. It's his birthday. He can enjoy this. 

McCree swings around in his lap - somehow, Gabe can't be bothered the figure out the logistics of it - so he's facing Gabe again. If he can feel Gabe growing harder underneath him, he certainly doesn't give any indication. McCree holds onto Gabe’s shoulder with one hand and leans back as far as he can manage, keeping his ass firmly pressed against the line of Gabe’s dick. He rolls his hips against him, his eyes on the space between them, watching his own crotch bounce in Gabe’s lap. After a moment, McCree drags his eyes up to meet Gabe’s, his hands following the same path, plucking open the top buttons of Gabe’s shirt. McCree’s mouth is half-open, quirked up at the corner, sweat starting to bead on his brow so his long hair sticks to his forehead as it falls into his eyes. He looks positively sinful like this. His eyes are dark with - it can't be lust, Gabe chastises himself, he'd be a fool to think it. But there's  _ something  _ there that Gabe can't quite place, doesn't care to name because he knows he'll never see it again - not from McCree. He's enjoying this, he reminds himself. He holds McCree’s gaze steadily, allowing just the softest of pants to escape as McCree rides him. McCree leans back up and drapes both arms around Gabe’s shoulders, tilting his head down to press his forehead against Gabe’s, still holding Gabe’s gaze. Gabe’s fingers tighten around McCree’s hips. The tips of his fingers press into his hot flesh and he thinks - for a moment - how much he’d like to mark up that hot, sweaty skin. 

“Happy birthday, boss,” McCree murmurs. His breath smells like whiskey but Gabe doesn’t care. He could drink it in all night, if he was allowed. 

Suddenly, unexpectedly, McCree ducks forward and presses his mouth, soft and warm, against Gabe’s. It’s over in a moment, leaving Gabe to wonder if he imagined it. The song is almost over and McCree is doing his best to end the song with a flourish. Gabe is still half-hard under him even when McCree finally slides off his lap to uproarious applause from the rest of the Blackwatch strike team. Gabe comes back to himself, finally, the color rising to his cheeks. 

“Who knew Jesse knows how to put on a show!” Prithi says. McCree runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back and away from his face as he grins, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Shiga hands him his shirt. 

“I got plenty of secret talents,” McCree says, his eyes still on Gabe when he speaks. He tugs the shirt back on but leaves it mostly unbuttoned, untucked. Gabe has to look away - he’s rapidly losing his self-control. 

“Blackwatch’s finest,” Gabe manages to say, shaking his head. Someone presses another drink into his hand and the music changes back to their party music. Gabe is able to get up without tenting his pants. The party goes on. 

The thing is, though - and Gabe can’t be sure - it seems like he keeps making eye contact with McCree. It doesn’t matter who either of them are talking to, their eyes keep drifting to each other. Gabe excuses himself from his conversation with Valdez. She’s so tipsy - practically  _ giggly _ \- that she doesn’t even bat an eye. Gabe glances across the room and finds McCree’s looking at him. He tips back the rest of his beer and sets the empty bottle on a nearby table before he steps into the hallway. Gabe takes a couple of strides down the hallway, his heart beating high in his throat. The music is still loud, even out here, but not quite loud enough to drown out Gabe’s second guessing. He turns back to return to the party when he comes face to face with Jesse McCree. There’s a split second where the two of them just look at each other, and then McCree takes Gabe’s face in both hands and kisses him hard. Gabe exhales in a little moan right up against McCree’s mouth. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he wraps his arms around McCree’s shoulders and pulls him in, letting his mouth fall open so McCree’s greedy tongue can sweep between his lips. McCree presses forward, crowding Gabe until his back is against the wall. He pins him there, his lips and tongue making Gabe go a little weak in the knees. Gabe’s head spins for lack of oxygen but he can’t bring himself to stop. McCree’s mouth on his is more intoxicating than any liquor at the party. 

“God,” McCree murmurs between sloppy kisses. His hands find their way up to Gabe’s shirt again, finding it still unbuttoned from when he had pulled it open earlier. He slips his fingers under the fabric, brushing hot and calloused against Gabe’s bare skin. It feels like sparks across his chest. “Been wantin’ - been wantin’ this forever.”

“You could’ve said something,” Gabe breathes. He tilts his head back as McCree’s mouth leaves his own, trailing kisses down his throat, nipping the skin as he goes. McCree lets out a small laugh against Gabe’s skin. 

“Yeah, that would’ve gone over real well,” McCree says. His mouth moves lower, sucking a mark into the skin over Gabe’s collar bone. It makes Gabe squirm in the best way possible. “You’re my commander.”

Gabe inhales sharply. The thought shouldn’t make him feel  _ this _ way, but he’s wound up enough to let McCree’s words go straight to his dick. The older, wiser commander - the younger, more handsome recruit. 

The way McCree is looking at him now, though, belies any semblance of innocence. Especially not when he drops to his knees in front of Gabe, one hand pressing Gabe’s hip to anchor him to the wall. Gabe ought to be ashamed of the way his dick jumps in his pants but he’s having a hard time bringing himself to care. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Gabe manages to say, the last remaining bit of logic in his head winning over his more base desires. He’s not  _ that _ drunk and it wouldn’t be an excuse even if he was. He has to give McCree an out - he couldn’t live with himself otherwise. 

McCree tips his head up to look at Gabe, lips shiny pink and swollen from their over-eager kissing. 

“I want to,” McCree says, enunciating each word very carefully. “But you don’t have to let me.”

Gabe bites his lip. He reaches down to push some hair off McCree’s forehead. “I want it.”

McCree gives him a triumphant grin. His fingers make quick work of Gabe’s zipper and before Gabe has a chance to react, McCree is pulling his dick out of his pants and sucking him down with sloppy enthusiasm. Gabe stuffs his hand against his mouth to keep from making too much noise. He knows that they probably can’t be heard over the sound of the party and the music, but he isn’t about to take any chances. The thought that someone, anyone could step out of the room and see McCree on his knees in front of him… Gabe swallows thickly. He can’t take his eyes off McCree - the way his lips stretch around the length of Gabe’s dick as it hardens on his tongue, the way his hands circle the base to keep him in place, pinned against the wall. McCree’s lifts his eyes to meet Gabe’s and it steals the breath right out of Gabe’s lungs. McCree’s mouth is soft and hot, his tongue doing something to the underside of Gabe’s dick that makes his toes curl in his boots. Gabe clutches at McCree’s shoulders, not sure what else to do with his hands, but wanting to touch McCree, assure himself that this is actually happening. 

He’s not going to last, though. As much as he wants to savor this moment - savor each of the little wet, sucking, moaning sounds McCree is making around his dick, savor the way McCree’s lips stretch to accommodate his girth, savor that dark, lusty look in McCree’s eyes as he holds Gabe’s gaze and hollows his cheeks - he’s not going to last. He’s not going to - to - 

Gabe cries out around his knuckles, pitching forward as his knees go wobbly and weak. McCree pulls off with a wet slurp, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand as he sits back on his heels. 

“Do you want…?” Gabe asks, trailing off. McCree blinks at him. 

“It’s  _ your _ birthday.”

“Suppose that means I get to do what I want,” Gabe replies. McCree blinks again, then laughs. 

“Hell, darlin’, I ain’t gonna stop you if you want to,” McCree says. Gabe holds out a hand and McCree uses it to pull himself up before Gabe uses it to tug him in close so he can kiss him again. He can taste himself on McCree’s tongue, salty and bitter. It makes him groan. He switches spots with McCree, pushing him to rest against the wall while Gabe sinks down to his knees where he comes face to face with that ridiculous belt buckle. He wants to make some sort of smart comment, but he also doesn't want to ruin this. He pries it open and pushes open McCree’s jeans to get at his dick. It's already thick, half-hard when Gabe pulls it free from McCree’s boxers. Gabe takes a moment to appreciate it - he never let himself even think about this, he wants to remember it. Then he ducks forward and closes his lips around the tip of McCree. Above him, McCree lets out a little appreciative moan. His hands come up to card through Gabe’s curls, fingers twisting around the short strands. 

“God -” McCree breathes as Gabe works his mouth further down his dick. Gabe is out of practice and McCree is bigger than he expected - he doesn't know what he expected, really, but not  _ this _ \- but Gabe is greedy for it. He loosens his jaw and flattens his tongue along the underside, tasting musky, salty sweat and skin. “Fuck - you feel so good, boss. So fucking good -”

Gabe feels the praise coil hotly in his gut. Encouraged, he takes McCree as far down as he can go, enjoying the way his dick fills his mouth, hitting the back of his throat. He feels McCree’s fingers flex in his hair. He pulls off just enough to draw breath and then plunges back down, using his hand to jack off McCree as he works the first few inches with his lips and tongue. Gabe was never an expert - far from it - but he hopes his raw enthusiasm makes up for it. 

“Yeah - just like that, gorgeous,” McCree purrs. His eyes haven't left Gabe’s face. Gabe is sure McCree can see the pleased flush in his cheeks. McCree moans again. “God -  _ fuck - _ been wanting you forever. So fuckin’ good - just like that, darlin’, yeah -”

McCree’s words send a shiver down his spine that goes straight to Gabe’s dick. He wants to make him moan, to make McCree lose his mind, to hear more of those praises that fall so easily from his mouth. He lets McCree’s hands in his hair guide him, dictate the speed. He unexpectedly loves the way McCree takes control, the pressure of his hands just enough to keep Gabe where he needs him. Gabe moans around McCree. 

“That’s right - oh, fuck, boss - you’re gonna make me come,” McCree says. Gabe lifts his eyes to meet McCree’s, the wet noises falling from his lips increasingly sloppier. McCree watches him with his mouth hanging open, his praises punctuated with soft gasps. His hand tightens in Gabe’s hair and his hips stutter. It’s all the warning Gabe gets before McCree’s dick twitches on his tongue. It’s salty and bitter and Gabe swallows every drop. McCree slumps back against the wall. “Fuck,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face. “God - I couldn’t’ve - fuck.”

Gabe gets to his feet, his knees knocking together. He’s suddenly worried that maybe McCree thinks he’s made a mistake - that he’s already having regrets. Why would someone like McCree (young, in his prime) settle for someone like Gabe (newly 40, practically washed out)? Gabe ducks his head, tucking his dick back into his pants. 

“We should do that again,” McCree says. Gabe’s head snaps up. McCree meets his incredulous look with an almost shy look of his own. 

“Really?” 

“If you want to,” McCree shuffles on the spot. “Like I said - I been wantin’ to do that for… for a long time.”

Gabe doesn’t know what to say. He stares at McCree, his face going expressionless as he tries to school his thoughts and feelings into something resembling coherency. 

“Boss?” McCree asks, worry creeping into his voice. 

“You - you really wanted…?”

McCree blinks. “Yeah. Is that so hard to believe?”

It  _ is _ \- it’s  _ very _ hard to believe. Gabe shakes his head a little, dropping his gaze to the floor. McCree’s fingers slip under Gabe’s chin, gently tilting his head back up to meet his eyes. It’s a surprising, tentative gesture - almost delicate. 

“I wanna do that again, but only if you want,” McCree says. Gabe swallows. 

“Are you sure?”

“More sure than almost anything in my life, darlin’.”

Gabe hesitates. He shouldn’t - he can make up a million reasons why he shouldn’t - but he wants to. 

It’s his birthday. He can let himself have one thing. 

“Alright.”

They rejoin the party separately so as not to arouse any suspicions. It doesn’t matter; the party has gotten to the point where everyone is drunk and in their own little worlds. It suits Gabe perfectly. He makes the rounds, thanking everyone for coming, accepting their slurred and effusive birthday wishes, pleading old age and an early morning so he can slip away, reminding them to drink plenty of water before they go to bed as he leaves. Gabe heads to his quarters and paces, waiting, hoping, praying that McCree meant what he said. 

It feels like eons before there’s a knock at his door. Gabe has already resolved himself to spending the rest of the night alone, but the knock startles him out of his self-pity. He lurches for the door and is relieved to find McCree standing there on the other side. 

“You still want…?” Gabe starts to ask, but McCree steps in and takes Gabe’s face in both hands to kiss him just as heatedly, just as hard as he had in the corridor outside of the party. Gabe melts into the kiss, the door sliding shut behind McCree. 

“I’m here, ain’t I?”

“Yeah, but -”

“Nuh uh,” McCree says, kissing Gabe again, lightly, almost casually - like it’s a natural thing for him. “It’s your birthday, you get to enjoy this. Hell,  _ I  _ want to enjoy this.”

Gabe hesitates, gnawing on his own lip. Finally, he nods. “Alright. Alright - if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” McCree says. He juts his chin out, cocky. “Why don’t you go sit on the bed, huh? Right on the edge.”

Slightly confused, Gabe does what he's told: he sits on the edge of the bed and slides his hands into his lap, head tilted up to look at McCree expectantly. McCree grins at him. He licks his lips and sways his hips, walking slowly, sinuously towards Gabe and the bed. His fingers pull open the buttons on his shirt one by one, his eyes never leaving Gabe’s face. 

“How about a private show, huh?” McCree asks. Gabe blinks and then his mouth goes dry. He manages a nod. McCree grins. “Sit back and enjoy it, then.”

McCree finishes unbuttoning his shirt, standing in front of him, just out of Gabe’s reach. He turns and lets the shirt slide down off his shoulders, exposing the bare skin of his shoulders and back. McCree peeks over his shoulder and tosses Gabe a wink. Gabe feels the color rise to his cheeks, but he can't look away. He's marveling at McCree’s endless swagger, the way the warm bedroom light shines on his bare skin. He wants to touch it again, feel it hot and solid beneath his fingers. But he can be patient. McCree is here now - Gabe can wait a little longer. 

Turning back around, McCree sheds his shirt and drops it to the floor. His hands go for that ridiculous belt buckle. He palms the bulge just underneath. 

“You like my buckle?” McCree asks, voice low and husky. Gabe lets out a little breathless laugh. 

“It's ridiculous.”

“Better take it off, then,” McCree says. He flips open the buckle and whips the belt out of the loops with ease, letting the belt hang from his hand for a moment before he lets it drop to the floor. He pops open the button of his jeans then steps forward to straddle Gabe’s hips. Gabe drops his hands to the edges of the bed, fingers digging into the mattress. “You can touch me, darlin’.”

Gabe does so almost immediately; he sets his hands on McCree’s hips but this time he wastes no time in sliding his hands up the muscular planes of McCree’s back. McCree grinds lightly into Gabe’s lap, his fingers going for the buttons on Gabe’s shirt, pulling them open less deliberately than he had done for his own. At least one button pops loose in his haste. When his hands find Gabe’s skin, Gabe digs his fingers into McCree’s back. 

“Look at you,” McCree breathes, hands caressing him needily. “Like a statue.”

Gabe snorts and shakes his head. “Hardly.”

“Hush up, I'm enjoying the view,” McCree says, leaning back and grinding down on Gabe’s dick a little harder. He's lined up with his dick perfectly. McCree gives Gabe a grin. “You put on a good show earlier. Almost made me believe you were just pretending to enjoy it. But there's no hiding that monster in your pants, is there?”

Gabe feels the color creep into his face again. McCree laughs and dips forward press a kiss to Gabe’s mouth. Gabe holds him there, deepening the kiss, sweeping his tongue into McCree’s mouth. McCree is the one who pulls away, lips spit-shiny and pink. 

“Hold your horses, darlin’,” he says. “I ain't done here.”

McCree stands smoothly so that he's just straddling one of Gabe’s thighs. He toes off his boots before he tugs the zipper down on his jeans. Gabe has a spectacular view of McCree’s abs that end in a perfect V where they disappear into the top of his jeans, which now hang low on his hips. Gabe drags his gaze up McCree’s chest to meet his eyes. With a wink, McCree bends his knees and rolls his hips to grind down on Gabe’s thigh. He can feel the bulge of McCree’s dick as it drags down his leg. His own dick jumps in his pants. 

McCree gets off him to properly shed his jeans, kicking them aside before he settles back in Gabe’s lap, legs bracketing Gabe’s, ass firmly pressed against the hard line of his dick still trapped in his jeans. McCree laces his fingers behind Gabe’s head, pressing his forehead against Gabe's as he rolls his hips against him. Gabe’s gaze is trained on the sight between them - on the way that McCree’s dick tents his boxers as he grinds down into Gabe’s lap, the way his abs contract with each movement of his hips, the way his own dick twitches with the rhythmic pressure. He can hardly take it any more. 

“Is this - is this what you were thinking about, the first time?” Gabe manages to ask between panting breaths. McCree chuckles low in his throat. 

“Hell yeah,” McCree says. 

Gabe surges up to kiss him, wrapping his arms around McCree until they're pressed chest to chest. They tip backwards on the bed, lips and hands desperate, insistent. Gabe takes two fistfuls if McCree’s ass and squeezes, relishing the noise that he pulls from McCree’s throat. McCree’s hand finds its way into Gabe’s jeans and around his erection. Gabe sucks in his breath and arches into McCree’s touch. 

“I want you to fuck me,” McCree says, right up against Gabe’s lips. It cuts through Gabe like a hot knife through butter. Gabe digs his fingers into the meat of McCree’s ass. 

“Yeah?”

“Really,” McCree says. He nips at Gabe’s mouth then soothes his tongue over the bite mark. “Please?”

Gabe can’t resist the way McCree’s voice goes a little high, a little needy - the way he ruts up against Gabe’s thigh with his boxer-covered erection. He squeezes McCree’s ass again. 

“Yeah - fuck, yeah.”

Gabe rolls them easily, pinning McCree to the bed. McCree lets out a surprised  _ oof _ , but his eyes brighten as he looks up at Gabe hovering above him. He goes loose and pliant under Gabe’s hands and lets him pin his arms over his head and kiss him deeply until they’re both panting. Gabe lets up only so he can strip off the rest of his clothes. 

“You got lube?” McCree asks, propping himself up on his elbows. Gabe gestures to the nightstand. 

“Top drawer.”

McCree wiggles out of his boxers before he dips his hand into the drawer. He lies back on the bed, naked, legs spread, giving Gabe a spectacular view: McCree’s cock rests hard and thick against his hip and his skin is practically golden and glowing in the soft bedroom light. As Gabe watches, McCree pops open the bottle of lube and slicks two of his fingers. 

“I came prepared,” McCree says, reaching down between his legs, past his balls. His voice hitches. “I’m nothing if not optimistic.”

“Jesus,” Gabe breathes, transfixed by the way McCree’s fingers disappear into his ass, stretching himself open, knowing that Gabe will soon be next. 

“I’m pretty sure you can just call me Jesse,” McCree says. Gabe pauses. McCree rolls his eyes at him and gestures vaguely with his free hand. “If we’re gonna do this - I really wanna do it right.”

“Jesse,” Gabe breathes, trying it out. McCree -  _ Jesse _ lights up and it’s maybe the best birthday present he could ask for. Gabe comes back down onto the bed to hover over Jesse, holding himself up over Jesse’s body with his hands on the bed on either side of him. “Jesse,” Gabe breathes, lowering his head to catch Jesse’s mouth in a kiss. “Jesse.”

Maybe it’s more intimate than Jesse has intended - Gabe has to remind himself that it’s probably just a sex thing between them, scratching an itch, nothing more, after all Jesse is in his prime and Gabe is  _ 40 _ now… Gabe has to push that thought out of his mind. He’s enjoying this, damn it. 

Jesse’s slicked hand wraps around Gabe’s dick and it’s easy to forget about Gabe’s misgivings in that moment. He pitches forward, thrusting into Jesse’s grip. 

“Yeah - fuck, you’re gonna feel so good inside me,” Jesse says, his voice hitching. Gabe gives him one last, lingering kiss before he sits back on his heels between Jesse’s legs. He finds the bottle of lube and slicks himself up, letting his hand drag slowly up the length of his cock, keeping his eyes on Jesse’s face. The tip of Jesse’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. He squirms, spreading his legs further apart. “Look fuckin’ good like this, Gabe.”

His own name on Jesse’s lips gives Gabe a jolt. He lets go of his own dick and pushes Jesse’s legs up and back, sliding his hands under Jesse’s ass and pulling him close. The tip of his slick dick slides between Jesse’s cheeks. Jesse tosses his head back. 

“Yeah, yeah Gabe -  _ please  _ -”

Gabe lines up and pushes into Jesse, his fingers gripping his hips hard. He’s slick and hot and tight around Gabe’s dick. Jesse arches into it, moaning without any regard as to who might overhear them. Gabe doesn’t know where he wants to look more: the way his dick stretches Jesse open as he sinks into him, the way all of Jesse’s muscles stand out as he arches into Gabe’s hips, the way Jesse’s mouth - open and pink - forms Gabe’s name with every breath. 

Gabe’s hips press flush against Jesse’s ass. He can feel every clench and flutter of muscle around his dick. He’s tight, so tight, and almost unbearably hot. Gabe has to give himself a moment, otherwise he’s going to lose it entirely too soon. Jesse picks up his head to look at Gabe. 

“Move,” he says breathlessly, his voice going a little higher and needier again. “Fuck me.”

Gabe doesn’t need telling twice. He adjusts his grip on Jesse’s hips, pulls back, and then thrusts back in sharply, again, again, and again. Jesse practically lifts off the bed, rolling into every snap of Gabe’s hips. Gabe fucks into Jesse hard, relishing the way that Jesse opens up to him, the tight, slick heat of him clenching around his cock so sweetly with each thrust. Babbled praises fall from Jesse’s mouth in a near-constant stream. It does something to Gabe that he can’t explain. He preens under the praise, holding Jesse more tightly, thrusting into him harder, relishing the slapping sound of skin on skin, knowing without a doubt that he’s making Jesse feel good. It makes Gabe feel even better in turn. 

Jesse locks his ankles behind Gabe’s back and takes everything Gabe can give him. His blunt nails are dragging red marks into the skin of Gabe’s back as he holds onto him. It’s sending sparks up Gabe’s spine, making each thrust sweet and sharp at once. Jesse’s head is thrown back against the pillows, the column of his throat exposed. Gabe mouths along the skin there, wanting to mark him up. He sinks his teeth into the swatch of skin where his neck meets his shoulder, imagining the mark under Jesse’s uniform for days to come. 

“Gabe, Gabe,” Jesse pants. He arches up again, dragging his own erection over Gabe’s abs, leaving a sticky wet trail of precome. “Gabe - please, Gabe, please - fuck, I’m close - you feel so good, so fucking good -”

Gabe moans into Jesse’s neck. As much as he wants to drag this out, he’s not going to last. His hips stutter against Jesse’s ass. 

The next moment, Gabe finds himself on his back with Jesse straddling his hips, both hands pressing Gabe into the mattress. 

“Not yet,” Jesse says, tossing some of his sweaty hair out of his eyes. He lifts himself up on Gabe’s dick, until just the tip is barely inside of him, and then sinks down slowly, mirroring that same undulating sway of his hips from earlier, when it had just been a lap dance, when Gabe couldn’t have imagined that this is what would come of it. Gabe squeezes Jesse’s thighs and nods breathlessly. Jesse bites his lip. “You like this? Want me to ride you?” He rolls his hips down into Gabe’s lap. “Like that?”

“Yeah - Yeah, Jesse, just like that,” Gabe says. He watches the way his cock disappears into Jesse, the way Jesse’s own dick bounces with each movement, a bead of precome dribbling down the side. Jesse tips his head back and moans. 

“Say it again - say my name.”

Gabe swallows. “Jesse - Jesse - Jesse, more -”

“Fuck, yeah,” Jesse says, riding him faster. He braces himself with both hands against Gabe’s sternum, giving himself enough leverage to fuck himself onto Gabe’s dick. “Love the sound of your voice, Gabe. Always have.”

Gabe surges up to kiss him. He wraps his arms around Jesse, holding him close even as Jesse keeps bouncing on his dick, taking him deep and moaning into Gabe’s mouth. Jesse’s dick twitches between them, the friction of Gabe’s stomach rubbing up against it just enough to send him over the edge. Gabe only has to wrap his fingers around his dick and he comes, his whole body shaking, thighs trembling on either side of Gabe’s hips. The noise that Jesse makes echoes in Gabe’s ears. 

“Ah - ah -  _ ah _ !” Jesse cries out, pressing his face into the crook of Gabe’s neck. His ass flutters and clenches around Gabe’s dick. Gabe thrusts up into Jesse even as the tension goes out of his body, collapsing against Gabe’s chest. He tugs Jesse down to meet every movement of his hips until his own orgasm rips out of him. He pulls Jesse flush against his lap as he spills deep inside of him, panting hard, listening to Jesse’s whimpers in his ear. 

They stay like that - sitting tangled up in each other’s limbs for a long time - breathing hard as the sweat cools on their skin. Eventually, they tip over onto their sides. Gabe’s dick slips out of Jesse but Jesse crowds in close, head tucked under Gabe’s chin. The proximity is pleasant. Gabe drapes his arm around Jesse’s shoulders and holds him there, his eyes sliding closed. 

“You don’t have to stay,” Gabe finds himself saying, the words rumbling low in his chest. He feels Jesse snort against his neck. 

“‘M comfy,” he says. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

“Mm. If you’re sure.”

“Shuddup. I’m sleepin’ here.”

Gabe chuckles sleepily. He drifts off to the quiet, steady sounds of Jesse breathing in his ear. 

“Happy birthday, boss,” is the last thing that Gabe hears before he falls asleep. 

Morning comes and Gabe wakes up naked and alone. He blinks blearily, the drinks from the night before catching up with him in a fun and mostly unfamiliar way - it’s been a long time since he’s had more than a beer or two with dinner. Gabe puts a hand to his head as he registers the messy sheets bunched up around his ankles, the bottle of lube stuck in the gap between the bed and the wall. Flashes of the previous night come back to him in waves. 

But where’s Jesse?

Then, he hears it: the shower is running in his bathroom. Gabe hesitates, then stands and goes to knock on the door before he pushes open the door. He’s met with a wall of steam. 

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Jesse’s voice floats to Gabe through the steam that fills the tiny en suite bathroom. “You never told me that this is where all the hot water goes.”

Gabe finds himself smiling. “Special privileges,” he says.

“You want to join me?” Jesse asks. 

“There’s barely room in there for one.”

“I’ll make room. C’mon.”

Gabe steps into the shower behind Jesse, the water deliciously hot against his sore muscles and aching head. Jesse turns around and loops his arms around Gabe’s shoulders, scrutinizing his face carefully. Gabe lets his hands settle on Jesse’s hips. 

“I was worried you had changed your mind,” Gabe admits. Jesse blinks, then shakes his head. 

“I been waiting long enough to get you to myself,” Jesse says. “I wasn’t about to mess it up.”

Gabe shifts a little, looking down. “If you just wanted it to be a one night thing -”

“Do  _ you _ want it to be a one night thing?”

Gabe peeks back up at Jesse and shakes his head. “No, but.”

“But what?” Jesse asks. There’s a little line between his eyebrows and his gaze is intense. Gabe doesn’t squirm, even though he’s having a hard time articulating his thoughts. 

“Just - I mean, I’m your commander, and I just turned  _ forty _ , it was my birthday and everyone was drunk and… I just want you to be sure,” Gabe says. Jesse chuckles softly. He leans in and kisses Gabe, lightly, sweetly. 

“I’m sure. I’m real sure,” Jesse says when he pulls away. His face goes more serious as he continues. “I wouldn’t have come to your room if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t’ve stayed overnight if I wasn’t, and I sure as hell wouldn’t be having this conversation if I wasn’t sure. Alright?”

“Alright,” Gabe says, something finally unknotting in his chest. He tugs Jesse in by the hips, finally noticing a purple mark where his neck meets his shoulder. He raises on hand to trace lightly around it. Jesse shivers a little, in spite of the hot water falling on their heads. He leans into the touch. 

“Was it a good birthday?” Jesse asks quietly, crowding in close. Gabe chuckles. He wraps his arms around him and presses a kiss into Jesse’s wet hair. 

“Yeah. I forgot what that could be like,” Gabe says sincerely. He means it, even though part of him still wants to be careful with this new, fragile thing they have. Jesse peeks up at him. 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Gabe shrugs. He lets a small smile spread across his lips, his eyes going a little brighter. “When you get as old as I am…”

Jesse whaps him lightly and Gabe laughs. He feels lighter, happier than he has in a long time. 

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Jesse asks. Gabe raises his eyes to meet Jesse’s. He nods. 

“Yeah. A lot.”

Jesse grins. “Me too. You wanna go again?”

It might not be his birthday any more, but Gabe isn’t done enjoying it. 


End file.
